UC-NRLF 


A  SOLDIER 
"OVER  THERE" 


R,  MILL  OLIVER 
Australian  Imperial  Forces 


,-•  - 


VERSES  BY  A  SOLDIER 
"OVER  THERE" 


R.  MILL  OLIVER 
Australian  Imperial  Forces 


JOHN  J.  NEWBEGIN 

149  Grant  Avenue 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


COPYRIGHT    1918 

BY 
R.  MILL  OLIVER 


A 


TO    MY    MOTHER 


388696 


OCTOBER  3RD,  1917 

YER  'oppin'  over  in  the  mornin' 
An'  I  am  left  out  'ere, 
I  can't  express  me  feelin's, 
I.         But  in  me  'eart  it's  clear; 
I  want  ter  be  out  wiv  yer, 

But  fate  'as  been  so  kind, 
Wile  yer  'op  it  in  the  mornin' 
I  am  left  be'ind. 

I  ain't  no  novel  'ero, 

Yer  often  read  about, 
But  when  yer  pals  go  up  the  line, 
II.         It  'urts  ter  be  left  out, 

But  it  ain't  no  use  of  swankin' 

Sayin'  "I'd  jest  love  ter  be 
Up  where  the  shells  is  flyin'  'round ; 

Rest  camp's  no  use  ter  me." 

It  ain't  fer  askin'  of  it, 
That  I  am  left  out  'ere, 

I  want  ter  do  me  job  wiv  yer, 
III.         Fer  me  mer  duty's  clear, 

I  joined  the  boys  ter  deal  out  stouch 
Fer  every  Gawd  darned  Hun, 

An'  'elp  the  mother  country 
Ter  get  the  job  soon  done. 


1 


I  don't  care  w'ere  I'm  ordered, 

Or  what  I'm  told  ter  do, 
Fer  orders  is  jest  orders — 
IV.         That's  why  I'm  not  wive  you, 
But  w'en  yer  'oppin'  over,  boys, 

Jest  at  the  dawn  o'  day, 
I'll  be  thinkin'  of  yer  all, 

An'  ter  Gawd  I'll  pray, 

That  Vll  lend  'is  kindly  'and, 
Them  good  folk  tork  about, 

An'  give  yer  strength  ter  do  yer  job — 
V.        That  yer'll  do  it,  I  don't  doubt, 

Still  it's  good  ter  know  there's  someone 
Wo  watches  over  all, 

An'  that  thort  makes  it  easy 
If  yer  'ave  ter  fall. 


Yer  'oppin'  over  in  the  mornin', 
Yer  all  ain't  comin'  back; 

Some  of  yer  'ave  ter  pay  the  price, 
VI.         But  yer  courage  will  not  slack, 

Fer  yer  know  Australia's  never  failed 
In  any  job  she's  give  ter  do, 

An'  though  this  is  a  tuff  un', 
We'll  see  the  thing  right  throo. 


Yer  'oppin'  over  in  the  mornin' 
An'  I  am  left  out  'ere; 

I  can't  express  me*  feelin's, 
VII.         But  in  me  'eart  it's  clear, 

I  want  ter  be  out  wive  yer, 
But  fate  'as  been  so  kind, 

Wile  yer  'op  in  the  mornin', 
I  am  left  be'ind. 


i 


HER  SOLDIER  BOY 

T  SEEMS  only  yesterday,  little  boy, 

Since  you  played  with  your  soldiers  of  lead, 

And  left  them  lying  about  the  floor, 
When  I  had  tucked  you  into  your  bed. 

Battles  were  fought  and  won  by  you, 
'  In  your  kiddish  little  way, 
And  what  a  proud  mother  it  was  who  heard 
Of  your  doings  at  close  of  day. 

It  seems  an  eternity,  little  boy, 
Since  you  left  me,  to  take  a  share 

In  the  greatest  game  a  man  e'er  played, 
But  it  isn't  a  toy  game  over  there. 

It's  a  game  that  is  only  played  by  men, 
And  though,  as  man  you  do  your  part, 

The  little  boy  with  his  soldiers  of  lead 
Will  live  in  his  mother's  heart. 


B 


KING  ALBERT'S  REPLY 

ENT,  but  not  broken- 
Robbed  of  my  kingdom,  but  not  my  soul — 
Which,  high  above  the  desolation  wrought  by  you, 
shall  rise. 

My  cities  all  in  ruins, 
My  people  turned  adrift, 

But  yet  the  day  shall  dawn, 

And  from  the  ruins  be  born, 
A  nation,  staunch  and  true. 

Crushed  by  the  tyrant's  foot, 
But  only  for  a  while, 

And  then  your  answer  shall  be  made 

Not  to  man,  but  God  who  gave 
His  life,  that  man  might  live. 

Despoiled  of  homes  most  dear, 
My  people  still  fight  on, 

And  will  till  every  Belgian  son 

Has  seen  the  work  nobly  begun, 
Ended,  and  peace  again  shall  reign. 

The  country  side  shell  torn 
That  once  was  passing  fair, 

And  crops,  that  wavered  in  the  sun, 

Laid  low  by  Kultur's  cunning  gun, 
For  your  boasted  freedom's  cause. 

5 


Bled  white  of  youth's  fair  flower, 
That  we  might  hold  the  way, 

My  country  still  can  hold  its  head 
Above  its  ruins,  choosing  instead 
Death,  to  subjugation. 


THE  MEN  OF  AUSTRALIA 

rOU  who  answered  the  call, 

You  to  whom  it  was  not  in  vain 
The  nation  asked  help  from, 
In  her  dire  hour  of  pain, 

You  who  left  home  behind, 
Loved  ones,  and  prospects  too, 

And  took  the  chance  fate  gave, 
And  served  your  country  true; 

You  who  on  Egypt's  sands 

Toiled  'neath  the  sweltering  sun, 

Learning  the  part  of  a  man, 
Though  just  a  boy,  many  a  one ; 

You  who  stormed  the  heights, 
Of  Gallipoli's  steepest  shore, 

And  held  the  crest  you  gained, 
Though  fate  allowed  no  more; 

You  who  for  weeks  did  toil, 
And  at  last  the  sacrifice  made, 

Giving  your  life,  your  all, 
That  Australia  you  might  save; 

You  who  in  France  still  held 
The  honour,  your  brothers  won 

On  that  glorious  April  dawn, 
'Neath  Aegean's  rising  sun; 

7 


You  who  on  the  war-torn  fields 
Of  France,  and  Belgium,  too, 

Have  planted  our  Australian  flag, 
Our  emblem  of  all  that's  true. 

You  are  the  men  of  Australia, 
True  sons  of  the  Bulldog  breed. 


THE  MOTHER 

BYE,  a  mother's  blessing  go  with  you,  my 
'  son, 

There's  so  much  over  there  to  do, 
And  it's  little  I  have  done 

In  giving  you,  my  first-born, 
To  help  the  victory  to  be  won, 

I  would  not  hold  you  back, 

Though  deep  within  my  heart, 
Unshed  tears  are  welling, 

Now  the  time  has  come  to  part. 

I've  nursed  you  through  your  baby  ills, 

And  jealously  watched  you  grow, 
Fearing  the  pitfalls  ahead  of  you, 

When  out  to  the  world  you'd  go. 

I've  watched  you  play  your  baby  games, 
And  can  still  hear  your  laugh  of  joy, 

When  with  paper  hat  and  wooden  sword 
You  were  my  make-believe  soldier  boy. 

But  it's  not  a  make-believe  soldier  now. 
That  fills  his  mother's  heart  with  pride; 

It's  one  of  my  country's  soldier  boys, 
Who'll  fight  on  Liberty's  side. 

9 


Good  bye — no,  I'm  not  weeping; 

My  eyes  fill  with  tears  of  joy, 
When  I  think  my  country's  keeping 

Is  in  the  hands  of  you — my  boy. 


10 


THE  HILLS  OF  ENGLAND 

/CLOTHED  in  their  purple  mists, 

The  distant  hills  appear 
Like  some  royal  chief  of  old, 

Unflinching,  staunch,  austere, 
Watching  his  armies  at  their  games, 
Resting  the  while,  until  the  call 
Of  further  conquest,  stirs  the  heart  of  all. 

So,  noble  hills  of  England's  shore, 

You  gaze  on  us,  the  cubs, 

Of  your  lion-hearted  country, 

Sons  of  Australia,  that  dear  land 

Adopted  by  our  forebears  long  ago, 

Learning  in  the  shadows  of  your  purple  heights 

How  weaker  nations — wronged — to  right. 


11 


E 


"THE  CREDITORS" 

ACH  mother's  son,  who  has  given  his  life, 

In  Freedom's  fight  over  there, 
Each  wooden  cross,  that  points  to  the  sky, 

Demands  that  you  do  your  share. 

Each  Belgian  babe,  that  has  lost  it's  home, 

The  fatherless,  motherless,  too, 
Cry  for  succour,  but  not  in  vain, 

For  their  cries  are  heard  by  you. 

Each  tender  nurse,  who  mothers  us 
Back  to  health  and  strength  again, 

Can't  work  alone,  she  needs  your  help, 
Though  far  from  the  field  of  pain. 

Each  dawn  that  rises  sees  on  the  tape 
Your  sons,  waiting  the  word  to  go, 

And  when  the  barrage  thunders  down, 

They  have  never  faltered  or  gone  too  slow. 

So  each  over  here  can  do  a  share, 

Though  not  in  an  active  way, 
Just  buy  a  bond,  and  help  to  drive 

To  his  den  this  beast  of  prey. 

Drive  to  his  den  and  across  its  door 

The  stone  of  Liberty  roll, 
And  blot  out  the  name  that  has  blood  stained 

Civilization's   sacred  scroll. 

12 


M 


MISSING 

ISSING!    God!  what  an  eternity  of  fears 

Swells  in  the  hearts  of  loved  ones, 
And  yet,  to  some  a  gleam  of  hope  appears; 
It  cannot  mean  that  he  has  gone, 
And  n'er  again  we'll  see  the  smile, 
Or  hear  the  song  of  him  we  loved  so  well. 

Missing!     The  days  drag  on,  and  yet 

We  cannot,  and  we  shall  not  believe 

That  God  in  heaven  would  let 

Us  hope  against  hope ; 

Far  sooner,  than  these  days  of  dread, 

Our  loved  one  had  been  numbered — with  the  dead. 


13 


FATIGUE 

NOTE:     All  work,  outside  actual  Military  work,  is  called 
"Fatigue"  in  the  Army. 

TfATIGUE—  fatigue—  fatigue, 
•*•    Mornin',  noon  and  night, 

Cartin'  duck  boards  'ere 

Luggin'  ammunition  there, 

Fillin'  sand  bags, 

Bringin'  rations, 

Of  fatigues 

There's  many  fashions, 

Wen  yer  fightin'  over  there. 

Fatigue — fatigue — fatigue 

In  an'  out  the  line. 

We  always  damn  the  job  we're  on, 

We  curse  the  hours  that  seem  so  long, 

Puttin'  up  barbed  wire, 

Sometimes  under  fire. 

Still  yer  love  the  life, 

W'en  yer  fightin'  over  there. 

Fatigue — fatigue — fatigue 

In  all  kinds  o'  weather, 

Muck  an'  slush  over  yer  knees, 

An'  many  trifles  such  as  these 

Are  the  soldiers  lot, 

But  'e  don't  care  a  jot, 

'E'll  get  a  rest  in  billets, 

When  'e's  not  fightin'  over  there. 

14 


Fatigue — fatigue — fatigue 

Tis  the  infantry's  job, 

But  I  wouldn't  change  foot  sloggin' 

For  a  soft  cop,  or  nice  toggin' 

Of  a  job  behind  the  line. 

Wen  it  gets  to  zero  time, 

Tis  the  best  job  of  the  lot, 

Foot  sloggin'  o'er  the  top, 

Wen  yer  fightin'  over  there. 


15 


Y 


THE  BELGIAN  BABIES  APPEAL 

OUR  cities  stand  unshattered, 

Your  women  undefiled; 
No  mother's  heart  need  send  a  prayer 

To  God  to  spare  her  child, 
As  peacefully  it  rests, 
From  death  that  oft  infests 

The  skies,  o'er  cities  over  there. 

Your  men  have  gone  to  do  their  share, 
You're  proud  of  them,  we  know; 

But  turn  a  thought  once  in  awhile 
To  Belgium  clothed  in  snow; 

Think  of  the  babe,  the  wee  outcast, 

Homeless,  and  facing  winter's  blast, 
With  your  own  in  comfort  here. 

Picture  the  home  you  love  so  well, 
With  its  garden's  blooming  flowers, 

And  baby  laughter  making  bright 
The  sunny  noontide  hours, 

Destroyed,  by  shot  and  shell, 

From  incarnate  fiends  of  hell, 
Who  boast  the  aid  of  God. 

Picture  your  men  to  slav'ry  driven, 
Your  daughters,  torn  from  your  side, 

And  the  tiny  babe  you  love  well 
Cast  on  the  world's  full  tide, 

16 


By  them  who  do  not  care 
What  future  years  may  bear, 
For  a  sacrifice  to  Kultur. 

A  sacrifice  to  Kultur,  do  you  think, 
For  a  moment,  what  this  means? 

A  tiny  life  that  once  did  fill 

Fond  parents'  proudest  dreams; 

But  you  can  help,  we  know  you  will, 

That  baby  life  can  be  saved  still, 
If  you  lend  a  helping  hand. 

So  when  in  comfort  on  your  hearth, 
Your  baby's  "crow"  and  "goo" 

Stirs  tender  feeling  in  your  heart, 
Think  what  'twould  mean  to  you 

To  see  its  mutilated  form, 

To  hear  the  Uhlans  laugh  of  scorn, 
As  for  its  life  you  begged. 

But  to  you  they  will  not  beg  in  vain, 
Their  cries  have  reached  you  here; 

Just  give  a  cent,  'twill  help  to  save 
A  babe,  to  some  one  dear, 

And  to  a  life  a  start  you'll  give, 

That  in  future  years  shall  live, 
To  bless  your  country's  name. 


17 


HER  CROSS. 

WOULD  not  be  a  mother 

Did  I  not  grieve  my  loss, 
But  I  would  not  be  a  patriot 
Did  I  not  bear  my  cross, 
And  carry  on. 

I  would  not  be  a  woman 
If  my  heart  did  not  break, 

But  I'm  proud  to  know  he  died 
For  my  country's  freedom  sake, 
So  I  must  carry  on. 

It's  hard  at  times  to  smile, 

With  heart  that  nearly  breaks, 
When  the  first-born  son  to  you, 
Death — in  his  boyhood  takes, 
But  I  must  carry  on. 

He  was  brave,  iso  I  must  be, 
He  would  not  have  me  weep. 

And  the  trust  he  placed  in  me, 
Though  not  here  now,  I'll  keep, 
And  carry  on. 


18 


TO  A  BOOK  OF  "AUSTRALIAN  BUSH 
BALLADS" 


w 


HAT  do  you  bring  back,  little  book? 

To  a  soldier  over  here, 
Who  is  trying  to  do  his  little  bit 

For  the  cause  he  holds  so  dear? 

What  do  I  see  as  I  read  the  verse 

In  my  dug-out,  all  alone, 
What  do  I  hear,  in  the  lilting  rhyme, 
That  brings  back  the  Southern  home? 

The  rustle  of  gum  leaves  in  the  breeze, 
The  scent  of  the  wattle  bloom, 

The  crack  of  the  stock  whip,  and  the  song 
Of  the  bush-birds,  through  the  gloom. 

The  old  bush  tracks  I  learned  to  love, 

As  I  wondered  there  alone; 
The  cloudless  vault  of  heaven  above, 

And  the  trapper's  old  bark  home. 

The  little  creek  that  babbles  along 
Through  luxuriant  maiden  hair, 

And  o'er  the  pebbles  making  a  song 
In  keeping  with  nature  there. 


19 


The  crickets'  whistle  at  eventide, 

When  nature  seems  at  rest, 
And  those  sweet  voices  of  the  night 

That,  with  our  bushland,  has  been  blest. 

These  are  the  visions,  little  book, 

You  lovingly  bring  to  me, 
And  far  from  the  Bush  I  wander, 

'Tis  where  my  heart  will  ever  be. 


20 


AN   UNKNOWN   SOLDIER'S   GRAVE 

*'  A  N  unknown  soldier  lies  here"; 
-**>     These  words,  and  nothing  more, 
Mark  the  resting-place  of  a  hero, 
Who  left  his  home-land  shore, 

To  answer  the  call  of  England. 

Pause  as  you  pass  on  your  way, 
At  that  little  rough-hewn  cross, 

And  though  to  you  he's  unknown, 
Somebody  bears  the  loss, 

Of  the  soldier  lying  there. 

Someone  who  watched  him  grow, 

From  boyhood  into  a  man, 
And  smiled  as  they  saw  him  go 

To  answer  the  call — for  who  can 
Hold  back  loved  ones  then? 

Nature  with  poppies  red  and  white, 
Has  covered  his  resting-place, 

Red  for  the  blood  of  his  comrades  flowing, 
White  for  the  future  they  are  sowing, 
For  mankind  in  after  years. 


21 


w 


ON  THE  TAPE 

I  ILL  the  dawn  ne'er  waken? 
Will  the  guns  ne'er  speak? 
The  opening  words  of  the  barrage, 
Crouched  here  in  shell  holes, 
The  moments  with  leaden  feet, 
Creep  to  the  zero  time. 

Why  do  I  tremble  so? 

Surely  craven  fear  is  not  mine, 

As  I  think  what  an  hour  might  bring. 

Ah !  see  the  dawn  lingers  as  if 
Fearing  to  rise,  and  rising, 
Will  gaze  on  forms  so  cold  and  stiff. 
The  dawn  is  here — the  barrage  down; 
We're  moving  at  last,  thank  God ! 
It  was  not  fear  that  seized  my  heart ; 
'Twas  only  waiting  for  the  start. 


22 


THE  JOKER 

an  outpost  position, 
A  shell  hole  of  yesterday. 
We  had  taken  the  ridge  in  good  style. 
Our  foe  had  not  waited, 
He  had  got  clean  away, 
And  was  leaving  us  quiet  for  awhile. 

So  we  improved  our  shell  hole, 

With  the  few  men  we  had, 

The  remains  of  a  Lewis  gun  section, 

And  the  company's  joker 

Was  making  us  glad 

With  his  yarns,  and  he  had  some  selection. 

The  morning  soon  passed. 

It  was  just  after  noon 

When  the  zip  of  a  sniper  was  heard, 

We  were  soon  all  alert, 

For  it  seemed  quite  a  boon, 

The  first  sign  that  Fritzy  had  stirred. 

Our  sentry  gazed  'round, 

"Could  see  nothing,"  he  said. 

Again  came  the  zip,  it  was  closer  this  time. 

"The  blighter's  seen  something, 

Or  I'll  eat  my  head," 

Said  the  joker,  with  his  usual  smile. 


23 


"Gee,  that  reminds  me 

Of  a  yarn,"  so  to  tell 

One  of  his  stock,  he  stood  and  peered  'round 

The  zip  came  again, 

And  the  joker  he  fell — 

And  never  stirred  as  he  lay  on  the  ground. 


24 


TO  A  DEAR  FRIEND 

no  use,  you  and  I,  my  friend, 
Blending  our  lives  together, 
For  we  are  different  as  night  and  day, 
And  if  we  go  on  'twill  end  one  way, 
So  'tis  best  we  part  forever. 

Think  me  not  hard,  dear  friend  o'  mine, 
For  it  hurts  that  we  should  part, 

But  'tis  better  to  end  it  here  and  now; 

Better  for  both,  but  to  me  somehow 
I  can't  say  all  that's  in  my  heart. 

You  are  the  only  pal  I've  had 

That  I've  loved  as  dear  as  life, 
But  now  the  crossway  dimly  appears, 
Let  us  be  staunch,  that  in  future  years 
There'll  be  no  regrets  or  strife. 

You  take  your  path  and  I'll  take  mine ; 

'Twill  be  hard  at  first,  I  know, 
Without  your  cheery  word,  old  pard, 
When  things  are  going  a  wee  bit  hard, 

But  'tis  better  it  should  be  so. 

We've  had  some  jolly  times  together, 

That  will  ever  be  dear  to  me, 
You  have  shown  me  how  to  act  a  man, 
But  to  part  now !  'tis  the  better  plan. 
Don't  ask  why  it  should  be  so. 

25 


TO  TABLE  MOUNTAIN,  CAPE  TOWN 


M 


OUNTAIN  clothed  in  mists  that  gently  rise, 
As  the  dawn  reddens  in  the  eastern  skies, 
And  in  the  austere  majesty  of  years 
You  gaze  upon  us,  mankind  full  of  fears. 

Fears  as  to  the  future  we  all  gaze, 
Which  to  our  eyes  appear  in  haze, 
As  you  great  mount  appear  at  dawn; 
But  as  the  sun  the  mist  dispels, 
So  staunch  endeavour  in  our  life 
Dispels  the  mist,  that  veils  the  light 
Of  the  future  that  we  feared. 

Staunch  endeavour  in  all  we  do, 

So,  mountain,  may  we  be  as  you, 

Steadfast,  unflinching,  as  through  life  we  go, 

For  mists  may  hide,  but  for  awhile, 

A  future  white  as  snow. 


26 


o 


LIFE'S  CROSS- WAYS 

FT  I  look  back  on  those  youthful  days, 
When  at  life's  cross-road  I  gazed  down  the  ways, 
Wondering  which  pathway  to  take 
At  the  end  of  which,  my  mark  I'd  make. 
But  the  roads  were  many,  and  as  'tis  said 
To  put  on  young  shoulders  a  world-wise  head 
'Tis  hard,  so  I  chose  my  path  alone. 

But  whither  it  leads,  I  know  not  where, 
The  world  for  the  fledgling  has  no  care; 
Your  heart  must  be  staunch,  for  the  fight  is  long, 
And  the  road-way  is  rough,  and  opponents  strong  ; 
But  to  look  back  is  to  lose  your  way. 

So  to  face  the  furrow  my  plough's  begun, 

To  reach  the  end  ere  the  setting  sun 

Of  life  sinks  low  in  the  west, 

This  must  I  do,  though  at  times  I  think 

My  task's  too  hard,  and  I  almost  shrink 

From  my  plough,  as  I  gaze  ahead. 

But,  though  rough  the  road-way  be, 
Love  lends  a  hand,  and  so  to  me 
This  kindly  hand  has  made, 
My  rocky  road  a  smiling  glade, 
With  roses  where  the  stones  once  were, 
And  skies  of  blue  above. 


27 


TO  THE  LITTLE  MOTHER 

LND  SO,  dear  little  sister  mine, 
A  woman's  blessing  most  divine 

Has  come  to  thee. 
And  snuggling  to  your  breast, 
As  a  fledgling  to  its  nest, 
Is  God's  greatest  gift. 

A  baby  small  is  given  to  thee, 
The  greatest  gift  of  all,  that  we 

Might  understand  God's  love. 
Tiny  though  this  life  may  seem, 
In  it  reflects  the  radiant  beam 

Of  Love  divine. 

A  little  heart  that  beats  for  you, 
With  love  that's  deeper  and  more  true 

Than  any  of  mankind. 
A  little  mind  that  has  no  thought, 
Not  knowing  why  it  has  been  brought 

Into  this  world  of  ours. 

This  little  treasure,  sister  mine, 
It  is  the  bond  of  love  divine 

'Tween  you  and  him. 
So  cherish  it,  I  know  you  will, 
Tis  but  a  little  while  until 

Your  babe  will  be  a  man. 


28 


Tis  but  a  little  while,  and  then 
He'll  take  his  place  among  the  men 

Of  this  great  world. 
So  with  your  mother's  love  so  deep, 
Keep  his  tiny  toddling  feet 

In  the  way  you'd  have  them  go. 


29 


w 


TO  E.  R. 

HAT  right  have  I? 

Save  that  when  we  met 

A  glance  came  to  your  eye; 

And  yet,  it  may  have  been 

My  soul  was  .stirred, 

And  I  imagined  the  unspoken  word. 

What  right  have  I? 

I  ask,  but  not  in  vain, 

For  surely  we  shall  meet  again, 

May  be  my  hope  is  just  a  dream, 

To  end  where  it  began, 

With  just,  "it  might  have  been." 


30 


Y 


TO  THE  "WORK-A-DAY"  MAN 

IOU'VE  shouted  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner" 

'Til  your  throats  are  bricky  dry, 
And  your  cheers  for  the  boys  who  went  away 

Resounded  to  the  sky. 
You've  watched  the  map  in  the  papers, 

And  you've  read  the  news  with  a  thrill, 
But  does  it  occur  to  you,  "work-a-day"  man, 
There  is  something  else  to  do  still? 

You've  sent  the  Kaiser  down  to  hell, 

At  the  moving  picture  show. 
You've  wished  the  boys  good  luck,  God  speed, 

As  from  your  cities  you  saw  them  go, 
You've  decked  your  machines  with  service  flags, 

And  the  good  Old  Glory  too, 
And  perhaps  you're  wond'ring  if  there  is 

Anything  more  to  do. 

A  thrill  of  pride  rings  in  your  voice, 

As  you  speak  of  the  valiant  deeds, 
That  Sammy's  doing  over  there, 

But  there's  something  else  he  needs; 
You've  knitted  him  sox  and  mufflers, 

He  wants  them  we  know  full  well, 
But  in  Christmas  parcels  you  cannot  pack 

The  Hun's  issue  of  shot  and  shell. 


31 


You've  sent  him  smokes;  he  loves  them, 

For  there's  nothing  will  pass  the  time 
Better  than  wooing  fair  Nicotine 

When  a  chap  is  holding  the  line, 
But  we  hold  a  line  no  longer 

The  Allemand's  on  the  run, 
So  send  him  an  issue  of  S.  A.  A. 

As   a    Christmas   gift    for   the   Hun. 

You've  no  need  to  get  permission 

To  send  this  Christmas  box, 
Just  buy  a  bond  and  Sam  will  see 

That  Fritz  gets  the  result  in  his  socks. 
And  so  when  the  show  is  over, 

And  Sammy  comes  back  again, 
He'll  know  that  the  trust  he  planted 

In  Mr.  Work-a-day  Mian  was  not  vain. 


NOTE:    S.  A.  A.,  Small  Arm  Ammunition. 


32 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
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FEB    2   1948 

30Nov'53VW 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


